Pens and Places

  Please don’t ask me why do I write, join me in my expedition of exploring words and rhythms and you will know beyond horizons of lyrical world, there’s a small galaxy I created it on my own. There are clouds, of thoughts and experiences, analysis and consequences, there’s stillness, like water and patience, faith and complacence, there’s fire, on the nerves and veins, vivid mountains and planes, and then there’s me, resting in the firefly-lit summer night carefree and quiet. And still if you ask me, why do I write, I will show my ways of dawn and dusky days where I paint people and rainbows on a literary canvas. I breathe, see and feel through alphabets, where screen connects to virtual galaxies of love and friendships, reminding little packets of gossips scattered on my balcony. But please don’t ask me why do I write, instead read my mind between the lines and come to me, for feedback and suggestions, and we will talk for ages,  just like I do with my pen. Prompts: •  ...

  Behind the dusted curtains  of night’s illusion, there’s a slaty candle, liting, peeping through hole, lightening the archaic balcony. One might get lost, mislead on the streets, scratchy graveled paths of ghosts, but there’s something  so sad, hanging on the black trees, one might fail to look beneath the shades of branches, whether it jeopardize the lives or deaths of souls. Let’s travel there once, to know the secrets of cursed land, all deserted and blank. You never know, the possibility of miracles. Prompts: • Scratch  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost •   Write a poem that captures the haunting and melancholic beauty of a deserted city   #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards

 If only you could read my mind, a gentle and distracted wine, will you be able to realize then that no one can ever find small treasure of packed nights. Layers on layers, you care for my soul, level on level my words wrapped under control of your heart strings. Shall I write a letter to you on behalf of my manuscript manager, and tell you how I feel behind the bushes of lavender and jasmine’s nights? If only you could see from heaven, how many times I recall your name just to keep track of your perfume and coffee stained shirts and fame of untouched petals? Prompts: • What is your love language?  #Therandomlifafa   #NaPoWriMoXShikhaholic   @therandomlifafa • Layer  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • Love letter to my coffee vending machine  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards

X -ray your words I am consoling my plant’s journal today where pages were crying, yearning for last cigarette  only to dry out salty tears. Classic words were sobbing, for seasonal floras, delicate and stagnant. Where have you been, Oh timeless pioneer? Small ones were innocent, creepers were distracted,  giant fiddle-leaf fig were still breathing but all were dead inside, begging for fresh emotions. I don’t know what to say, lost in their battle cries. I am sorry, I failed to realize. Prompts: •  Timeless #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   • Death of my houseplants #ebanapowrimo '23 @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

U nmask your spark ~Haiku~ Where farms giggle more along with happy farmers, you find my sweet home. Prompts: • Earth Poem  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • Describe your city to a blind person  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023  

  T une out the Noise He loved me like a calendar. Checked each date with to-do pleasures, missed his pain while spending emotional treasures, cooked for me, sang me for, dance, play and what not for me. And with every passing day, he maintained an archive of the experiences shared and forecasted. Now he realizes, the numbers of days and months and years act like a memory pill. The more one gets, the more one desires. But the current present can never be set as past digits. Still, he holds dear of all the pages, to remember them on good and bad days. Love might hurt both, but it shouldn’t be painful all the time, I guess! Prompts: • Love can hurt you, but it shouldn’t be painful all the time  #Therandomlifafa   #NaPoWriMoXShikhaholic   @therandomlifafa • Forecast  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • One day you will be remembered  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

S low down Dried roses placed between the middle pages of my diary, all crumbled, slightly fragrant with old times, giving a tint of familiar visuals of unknown solitude. My cat told me yesterday, of all the books I kept in my library, she adores that diary, and loves to explore my heart. May be, her brain nerves considers the pages of my diary as phases of my life.   Prompts: • Solitude  #thealiporepostpoetrymonth   @thealiporepost • My heart is a library  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

  R ide with the pain What’s exactly  the beauty of wine? I asked everyone, anticipating what’s more one can add from their dictionary. Few told ‘it's a warm blanket on cozy days’, Few claimed ‘it glorifies, with age and company’. But I am still searching, lingering in dark corners, between Gods or positivity. I laugh and cry at my best and lowest, but the power that I need comes from  two pupils of my eyes, who always worshiped infinity and beyond, like Hanuman of Ramayana. I carry you in my heart, sprinkling water every morning, keeping you fresh only to make you believe, Yes, that I will pass on to descendants of kindness and love. Words are never enough for reminiscing memory book, decorated piece by piece raised with extreme love nurtured above the expectations I call them teasers  the little glimpses  of understanding, that flows like water abundant but insufficient. Prompts: • Write a poem for someone. Someone you love/hate/can’t forget. But it needs to b...

  Q uieting inner critic Lost and dusted in the zone of pleasures, people often forget simple gratitude. Crushed and cursed confused and coaxed, human often forget  unfiltered home. But sometimes nature amazes with glitters and migrations where survival  screams and enjoys. And deep down, it warns like melatonin slowly declaring darkness  for good. Prompt: • Lost in a foreign city at midnight  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebookawards This post is a part of  #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

P rotect your emotions A strange sense of super power humans hold in their small pocket of heart. Heart, which differentiates the exact righteous doings  diffused on the floors and the walls  or the roofs of painted feelings. You can find feathers, talking shyly with partially glass-coated memories, a bunch of rainbows and the early sunshine. Sunshine, which sings with love and prayers and dance on  the rhythms of rain drops and lover’s Jadore and classy wine and lyrical peck. Do we call them angels, who stay under the shades of lenses of unfiltered cosmos? Cosmos, which affirms the possibilities of mercy among the shared bonds of family-friends and modest strangers and uncalled telepathy and little things.   Prompts: • What are the little things that aren’t little? Describe ways in which people love and are loved.  #Therandomlifafa   #NaPoWriMoXShikhaholic   @therandomlifafa • The scent of a loved one’s perfume  #ebanapowrimo '23  @elitebook...